


don't wanna give you all my demons

by ificouldidfeelnothing



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Josh Dun-centric, Mental Health Issues, Sad, Sad Josh, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, barely but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 21:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15782211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ificouldidfeelnothing/pseuds/ificouldidfeelnothing
Summary: Right now he's vulnerable, open with his skin shredded and bones out for the whole world to see.





	don't wanna give you all my demons

**Author's Note:**

> so. this is my first time really posting something on the internet, especially because i've never finished anything i started working on. but i wrote this quite fast and it seemed alright to me so. it's a vent, really, i just listen to twenty one pilots a lot these days and i love josh sm so why not hurt him right haha  
> anyway english is not my first language so forgive me any mishaps and feel free to point out any. hope you enjoy!

The sky is dismal and so is his mind, dark curtains of rain-filled clouds, thunder awaiting to break out. Barely there breeze caresses his skin gently and he sighs, sits down onto the dirty pavement. 

He's lonely. 

He's really not, he has so many amazing friends, his family for who he'd die and millions of fans who'd die for him. He can't explain why loneliness stabs needles into every inch of his flesh and brain. Does not understand why loneliness is his constant companion, won't ever leave his side.

Not even while he sleeps. Then he's haunted with dreams, nightmares chasing him with made-up stories of everyone he has ever loved leaving him behind. He doesn't believe them. But, he does and it's very slowly but very surely driving him insane.

He digs his beaten nails into the ground beneath him, takes a slow shaky breath. He looks up at the sky, there are no stars tonight looking out for him, he's alone.

There's a difference between alone and lonely though. 

He's alone right now in the darkness of the alley behind his apartment complex and he's okay with that, appreciates it even.

He's lonely every waking hour, lonely in the company of his friends and family, lonely on the streets sorrounded by thousands of nameless faces. 

Lonely at night, laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling for hours on end. Desperately trying and failing to find sleep. Lonely when Tyler texts him from across the country, telling him how much he misses him.

Lonely in the morning when he wakes up to an emptiness beside him.

He wishes he could rip his brain open and remove the part that makes him feel like this. Wishes he could simply stop feeling all together. 

Feelings are heavy and tiring, feelings give him the perception of holding the weight of the world. And he knows he's not, he has many people to share the weight with, he has Tyler. Tyler understands.

Then why does his throat feel swollen everytime he tries to open up and share the weight?

There's insecurities and anxiety, they mock him, tell him he's a burden. That he himself is the weight on Tyler's and everyone else's shoulders. Tell him he's useless on his own, always needs someone to pick him up.

He knows it's true, he'll admit to it. He knows, well, tells himself that it's okay. That Tyler cares, that everyone else does too. Argues with his own mind that no, he's not a deadweight and never will be to those who care about him.

His psyche always wins, always has the last word. Always convinces him otherwise.

So he raises the dose of his antidepressants without telling his doctor. It's not like they help anyway, all they do is leave biterness on his tongue and make his eyelids heavier than they already have been. Speaking of, he forgot to take them today. That has been occuring more often then it should these days. He decides he doesn't care enough to change it.

There are goosebumbs coating his skin now and he supposes he should get back home. But his apartment feels so fucking lonely, the walls taunt him along with his head and he doesn't think he's strong enough to face it right now.

Right now he's vulnerable, open with his skin shredded and bones out for the whole world to see. It's okay here where there is no one to observe him, to attempt pulling his lungs out. The air is breathable and his chest isn't caving in for once. For now he doesn't feel like he is seconds from choking to death on nothingness.

He's lonely nevertheless and it is trying its best to do just that, to suffocate him, gash his organs. It's not strong enought tonight, he persuades himself eventually. He will be okay tonight.

He doesn't really know himself anymore, admittedly. He doesn't know which segments of his brain are really him and which are just his deseases restraining his existence.

He doesn't know when did it become like this. Perhaps it always has been like this, he doesn't know. Doesn't know a lot of things lately. Doesn't know how to feel alive again, doesn't know how to take in air, doesn't know how to make it on his own but at the same time does not know how to ask for help. His shadow won't let him, tells him it's insignificant, tells him not to spill his problems onto others, not to be selfish.

Hell, that is the last thing he wants to be.

So, no, he does not know or understand why he feels like he's a waste of oxygen.

His life is perfect, isn't it? He's famous for doing the one thing he loves the most, has more money than he needs, he was finally able to move out of Ohio and live in LA like a real celebrity. He has a Grammy, for crying out loud. Has people from all around the globe screaming his name with adoration. 

He has more than he could've ever imagined having and yet he's sick of living, of existing, of being Josh Dun. He's beyond grateful for everything, yet he sits on the streets at 3am wishing he could disappear.

On stage, he is lonely all the same, with thousands of eyes on him. That might be when he feels the loneliest, even. All these eyes, they see his body, not him. Not his mind or soul, not his thoughts or dreams. They don't see who he is and they never will. He doesn't want them to, certainly they wouldn't be as devoted if they knew how fucking weak he is. They might try to rip him open if they knew how defenseless he was. He's scared of being that way, can't afford to be. Has to be strong for all these broken kids, for Tyler.

Tyler has peeled his skin off and spilled his insides in front of him countless times, has been doing so since they met. And he's always been there to clean them up and put them back where they belonged.

But Tyler has Jenna to hold him up now, doesn't he? Maybe he could let Tyler sew him back together this time.

He takes another unsteady breath, realises he's been holding it in hope he'll supress the tears clawing at the backs of his eyes if he doesn't even breathe. It was efficient apparently because as soon as he lets the air escape his lungs the tears spill, racing with each other down his cheeks.

He knows he should go back inside, doesn't want anyone to see The Josh Dun crying in the back alley at 3am. If he wasn't Josh Dun it wouldn't matter.

Sometimes when he allows himself to think about it, it blows his mind. The fact that he's a celebrity, his name matters. It makes him endlessly anxious if he really thinks about the amount of people who know his name, his face.

He raises himself off the ground rapidly, so much so that it makes his world blurry for a few seconds. Then wills his unstable legs to move and tries his hardest not to run to his apartment.

When he gets to the front door of the building it takes him way too much time and effort to unlock it. But he manages eventually and stumbles inside, nearly running up the stairs. He could have take the elevator but he'd have time to think there and that is the last thing he needs right now.

Once he makes it to his door he's breathless and he hates the feeling but ignores it in order to get into the relative safety of his home.

As soon as he's in he slams the door behind him, leans against it and slides to the floor. This position has become far too familiar, him croumbled on the floor, heaving out breaths heavily, with tears staining his face.

He's pathetic. He isn't working properly, his brain isn't. It lacks the chemicals normal people are born with and fuck, he wishes he had those damn chemicals inside of his veins. He wishes he knew how to function properly.

For a second he lets his guard down and, without his permission, his arm takes his phone out of his pocket and suddenly he's dialing Tyler and it's almost 4 in the morning now and he's being selfish. He's disturbing Tyler's sleep he knows he struggles to find as well. But before he has time to rethink his actions, Tyler picks up, asks what is wrong in a hushed rusted voice. He can hear sheets rustling, pressumably from Tyler getting up to leave the bedroom so he won't wake Jenna.

Oh god, he's so fucking pathetic. 

Tyler asks again, says his name along it. And he sobs. It hurts his throat with how dry it is and Tyler's voice grows urgent.

Then he's full-on crying, sob after sob, each messier than the last.

And of course, Tyler understands. So he stops asking for explanations he knows he won't get, and starts saying words of comfort instead. Anything and everything that comes to his mind.

And it helps, Tyler's voice helps, Tyler helps.

He calms down eventually after unknown amount of time, though it felt like years to both of them.

"You okay now, buddy?" Tyler's question comes in the gentlest voice he could imagine and Josh nods. Then realises Tyler can't see him and hums instead. Tyler sighs in relief and once again questions what is wrong. Josh doesn't have an answer so he says just that and knows Tyler gets it.

He understands that sometimes, it just feels like crying at 4am. That sometimes emotions don't make sense and sometimes it's difficult to put them into words even if they do. He's infinitely grateful for Tyler, really, because Tyler just knows and doesn't push and prod for answers and doesn't need to cut Josh open to see what's inside. Tyler isn't mad at him for waking him in the middle of the night.

He has the proof once again to convince his head that it's wrong, that no, he's not a burden. That it is okay to ask for help (though he doesn't even have to ask when it comes to Tyler. Tyler just knows)

On another night, his consciousness will try to prove him wrong, to fool him once again. For now though, as Tyler wishes him a good rest, he believes he will be alright.


End file.
